


Safe Spaces are Hard to Come By

by Plucky_Brit



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fitz just wants to help, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Jemma Simmons Needs a Hug, Jemma is completely fine, Leo Fitz Needs a Hug, after maveth, thats what she tells herself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 19:29:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14267985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plucky_Brit/pseuds/Plucky_Brit
Summary: Jemma is fine. She is completely and utterly fine.The fact that she’s currently hiding in the wardrobe, hands shaking, tears leaking down her face, doesn’t mean she’s not fine.She’s fine.(She's not fine)





	Safe Spaces are Hard to Come By

Jemma is fine. She is completely and utterly fine.

The fact that she’s currently hiding in the wardrobe, hands shaking, tears leaking down her face, doesn’t mean she’s not fine. 

She’s fine. 

The wardrobe door opens and she shrinks back before she she’s that it’s Fitz. 

“I’m fine.” She tells him, not meeting his eyes. 

He doesn’t say anything, just crawls into the small space to sit beside her so that she can cry into his shirt. She’s fine. 

She spends the day in the wardrobe. Fitz messages Daisy at some point, when Jemma is napping, drooling on his chest. She knows because she’s woken when the door opens again, flinching away from the unknown presence. Daisy smiles softly at her, but Jemma can see the worry under her upturned lips. 

“I’m fine.” She tells her friend, her voice cracking. 

Daisy nods, clearly disbelieving. “I brought supplies.” She hands Fitz a couple of pillows and blankets, a small cooler of food. “Text me if you need anything else.” 

She drifts off the sleep again, before waking with her chest fluttering, the sense that something is seriously wrong thrumming through her. Fitz knows. He always knows. Rubs her arms and breathes slowly with her until the buzzing under her skin fades away. 

“I’m fine.” She tells him. There’s that soft, sad smile again. 

“How about something to eat?” He opens the box that Daisy brought. The smell turns her stomach and she almost retches. He notices. Closes the box again. “Maybe later.” He sighs. Then his face curls in discomfort “I’ve been holding it for as long as I could Jemma, but the situation is critical now. Will you be okay if I go use the loo quickly?” He looks guilty, which makes Jemma feel bad, because he’s spent the last few hours in a small cupboard with an uncomfortably full bladder just so she doesn’t have to be alone, and he’s apologising for it. 

She nods, turning away when he opens the cupboard door so that the light doesn’t hurt her eyes. He shuts the door quickly. She waits a beat, for him to leave the bedroom entirely, before reaching up to lock the door from the inside. 

She presses her hands into her eyes, relishing the white spots that flash in her vision. She doesn’t want him to feel like he has to stay beside her always. Can’t have him living in the wardrobe with her. 

The door rattles, and Fitz’s worried voice comes through it, slightly muffled. 

“I’m fine, Fitz.” She tells him softly, wrapping her arms around her legs and rolling onto her side, pressing her face into the hard floor. “I’m fine.” She tells him again, as he knocks on the door. Tears are streaming down her face, and she tightens her grip, digging her nails into her arms, trying to hold on to the sting, letting it ground her. “I’m fine.” She whispers, to herself this time, the breath from her words warming her face. Her chest is tight again, the buzzing is back, the numbness.

She can’t stop crying. 

Her head hurts. The door rattles, harder this time, and she whimpers, bring her hands up to her ears. Digging her nails into her head, trying to focus on the pain. Anything to stop the buzz, the tightness inside her chest. 

The door bursts open, light flooding into the den. She can see the red of it through her closed eyelids. She feels hands on her, pulling her own hands away from their tight grip on her head, and she can’t stop it, can’t stop the wave of terror inside her from bursting out of her, from spilling out of her in a desperate wail. Someone is holding her again, pressed against her tightly. She tries to speak, tries to choke out the words, to tell them she’s fine, but someone slips a needle into her arm and the words die on her lips as the world blurs around her, colours merging and blending together until the blackness wins.

**Author's Note:**

> I may or may not continue this, depending how long the muse stays with me! 
> 
> XXX


End file.
